nine2five 8 Cover Identities
by Marc Vun Kannon
Summary: Sarah Bartowski's planning the perfect wedding, while Charles Carmichael's planning the perfect crime.
1. The Shadow

**A/N** Okay, time to get this show on the road.

* * *

"_What the hell was that?"_

"_It's not me."_

"_I want them out, Ellie!"_

"_Nothing I'm going to tell you now ever happened."_

* * *

"How are you feeling, Chuck?"

"Hmm. Let's find out." Chuck lay there in bed, eyes closed, finding out. "Toes work. Ankles and knees. Body and mind seem to be holding it all together. Heart and soul…?" He hugged her gently.

"A-okay," she said, laughing.

"Well, there you go, then." He opened his eyes and looked at her. "I am as A-okay as God and my sister could make me. Which sounds kind of grotesque now that I stop to think about it–"

"Well I think Ellie did a great job."

"No more skills, no more fighting, no more blackouts–"

She snuggled up closer and kissed him into silence. "Not at all what I meant."

"Oh, I know what you meant," he said, rolling her over.

"You guys know I can hear everything you're saying, right?" said Morgan from the other side of the wall.

Sarah sighed and dropped her head to the pillow. "Much as I love his breakfasts, he's got to get his own place."

"You got that right," said Chuck, flinging back the covers. "He's my friend, not a servant. He shouldn't have to pay rent in waffles."

She sat up. "I was thinking about our sex life."

"Oh, I know what you meant," he said again, giving her one of his famous eyebrow dances.

"Hey, be careful with that!" She raised her hands and turned her head away. "Don't go making promises your best friend won't allow you to keep."

Chuck looked at her, his features firming up remarkably. "Morgan?"

"Way ahead of you there, Chuck. You guys wanted waffles?"

* * *

Morgan put a plate down in front of Sarah. "Here you go, waffle number three. Any more for you, Chuck?"

Chuck sat back. "No thanks, buddy, two's my limit on waffles." Breakfast appreciation time over, he logged on to his newsfeeds.

"Cool. I'll go put the rest of the batter in the fridge, save it for another day."

Sarah said, "Morgan."

He turned back, hesitantly.

"Take this number." She held out a sheet of paper. "It's the number of a lady I know, she rents out lots of rooms to government trainees and stuff. Her name circulates among them but you probably wouldn't have heard of her. Tell her you situation and give her my name."

His eyes lit up. "Wow, thanks, Sarah!"

"Thank you! You're a good cook but I'm gonna get fat if this keeps up."

"Hey, you hear that, buddy?" Morgan whacked Chuck on the arm. "Now that's true praise!"

Chuck looked up. "Maybe you should call Benihana, see if they have any positions out here. You did get them a lot of good press."

"Yeah, and broken windows." Morgan sagged a bit at the thought, but then stood a bit taller. "No, you're right. Gotta live the dream."

Chuck nodded. "Can't be awesome without being awesome." He went back to reading his 'feeds as Morgan went off to be awesome somewhere else. "Hey, Burbank!"

Sarah looked up from her waffle. "What about it?"

Chuck shrugged. "Nothing. I have an old filter that looks for stories from there. It popped up a story, apparently some museum in Burbank is sending a new exhibit to DC, before it even opened there."

"That's weird. Why would they do that?"

"Break-ins. The insurance people wouldn't cover the exhibit anymore, even though the hellaciously good security in the museum prevented any actual loss. So they're sending the exhibit here, some kind of inter-museum back-scratchery going on." He looked up at her. "You want to go?"

"You didn't just…" She checked to make sure that Morgan wasn't in overhearing-range.

"Not that, Sarah. You know, normal people doing normal things type of stuff. It opens tomorrow night."

"Sure, why not? It'll be interesting to see one of these things from the front for a change. Which reminds me. I've got the wardrobe for it but we'll have to rent you a tux."

* * *

"Mr. Shaw?"

Daniel Shaw turned around to find a janitor standing behind him. "Chuck? Won't you get in trouble for being seen with me?"

Chuck ducked his, looked around. "Agent Walker told you to stay away from me. She didn't say I had to stay away from you."

Shaw smiled, admiring the hair-splitting while doubting it would deflect any of Agent Walker's wrath. He made no attempt to come closer, despite his curiosity. "I think this is probably close enough, Chuck. What's on your mind?"

Chuck pulled his hand from his pocket, holding some printed pages. "Is this you?"

Shaw reached out and took the pages, unfolding them to see a copy of the museum article Chuck read that morning. He'd already read it himself. "Why would you think I had anything to do with this?"

Chuck ducked his head, swept the floor some more. "Agent Carmichael was in Burbank. You were in Burbank."

Shaw stopped smiling. "How did you know I was in Burbank, Chuck?"

Chuck flinched, even though Shaw made no move to come near him. "I didn't say anything, Agent Shaw."

"I know you didn't, Chuck. You're a good boy." Shaw waited until the familiar phrase calmed the boy down. "I was just curious how you knew."

Chuck mumbled, "The trash told me."

Shaw nodded. "Thank you for telling me, Chuck," he said, smiling again. "If the trash tells you any more things about me I hope you'll tell me what they are."

"Yes, sir."

"You don't have to call me 'sir', Chuck. 'Agent Shaw' is fine, or you can even call me Daniel if you want."

"Yes sir, Agent Shaw."

Shaw sighed, slightly. "But to answer your question, no, this wasn't me." He folded the papers and handed them back, but Chuck was already moving down the hall, sweeping up the dust. Shaw took the pages back to his office, where he read them carefully, looking for anything in the story that would explain how Chuck knew he'd been there. Nothing jumped out at him. Whatever clue had jumped out at Chuck was too subtle for him to notice. He folded the pages and went to put them in the circular file.

_The trash told me._

He put them in his pocket instead.

* * *

"Hey, Hannah."

"Sarah, hi! What brings you down to nerd central?"

"You stand up straight and tall when you say that! The few, the proud, the Nerds!"

Hannah grinned, and saluted. "Yes, ma'am!"

"Ready for lunch? You do remember we had a lunch date today?"

"Oh, yes, and believe me, after upgrading the encryption programs on all these watches I am _ready_ for some sunshine and a friendly face. But I also don't want to have any more of these damn things to come back to after said lunch."

There were only a couple left. Sarah perched herself on a stool to wait. "Just the nagging certainty of getting stuck with some other miserable, low-man-on-the-totem-pole drudge work after that."

"Hey, I can't expect to just waltz into Digital Dave's batcave, and three times the work for twice the pay. I have to work at it!"

Sarah giggled.

"Tell me that sound didn't just come out of your mouth," said Hannah. "You're a super-spy, so act like one."

Sarah grinned, and saluted. "Yes, ma'am!"

"Ah, done, finally! I can't wait until they let me work on the Geiger counters or something sexy like that." She hopped off her stool and put on her coat.

"You wanna know something?" asked Sarah. "I've never needed a Geiger counter or a band saw, but my encrypted watch has saved my life more often than I like to admit. You want to do these guys a favor, figure out a way to hide a razor blade where the bad guys won't immediately find it."

"A razor blade? That sounds so basic. I can't imagine they'd do much with it."

Sarah smiled. "You'd be surprised."

"Not knowing you, I wouldn't be. But we're going to lunch, and we've got much better things to talk about than work. How's the wedding planning going? Have you told your husband yet? And isn't _that_ a strange question?"

"Well…"

* * *

Daniel Shaw put the phone down. All the work he'd done to get the Mask of Alexander exhibit sent to his carefully hand-picked museum, and they couldn't accept it. Now a cultural museum he had never heard of was rubbing its hands with glee over their good fortune, while he had to figure out ways to break into and out of the place.

At least their security wasn't likely to be as high-grade as the last place. If he hadn't been carrying an oxygen canister it would have killed him, and he still didn't manage to make the switch. All he could do was get hold of the building plans from the Hall of Records and find a bit of reconstruction that hadn't been carried out as carefully as it ought to have been.

* * *

Chuck's phone rang, and he moved into a janitor's closet to answer it. "Hey, what's up, Morgan?"

"Chuck, you and Sarah are lifesavers, man. I'd kiss your feet except that you're not here, and it's really kind of gross anyway. Well, _your_ feet would be, and I guess you'd kill me if I tried to–"

"Cut to the chase, Morgan, I'm on the clock here."

"That lady Sarah sent me to, Mrs. Pendergast. It turns out she's got a B&B, and she said I could stay there for a reduced rent if I'd be her breakfast chef."

"So you're paying her in waffles?"

"Well, yeah, and money too, because I'm not a full-time guy. But I did what you said and called my old boss. He's got a friend here in DC, so I called and I have an interview tomorrow. Is that great or what?"

"I'm proud of you, buddy. Live that dream!"

"Anyway, I still have some money from that plane ticket I cashed in, I was wondering if maybe you and Sarah would like to go out to dinner with me, sort of semi-my treat-ish, you know?"

"Yeah, Morgan, I know. Let me talk to Sarah, see what plans she's got, if any."

"Cool. Uh, you know any good places to eat around here?"

"Define 'good.'"

* * *

Daniel Shaw slipped from shadow to shadow, approaching the museum. Once a house, it had been extensively modified and enlarged over the last hundred years, and now housed an extensive collection of Byzantine art, which is where the exhibit would almost certainly be. Fortunately the architects had been men of standing and had filed their designs appropriately, where he could access them and find a weak point. Unfortunately he found that weak point in the rear of the other wing, and would have to cross half the house to make the switch.

He had to do it tonight. The Ring wanted the display too, but they were far less likely to take a chance on the security than he was. They had gotten where they were by stealth, forcing their ambition to creep rather than soar. They would infiltrate the audience and scope out the display area before staging their own theft. That delay was his only hope.

He fired a piton into the brickwork of the chimney and quickly scaled the attached cable to reach the roof, where he pulled up the cable and attached a small charge to the piton. His goggles revealed no trace of lasers or other active sensors, as he expected, so he stowed them and allowed his eyes to get used to the dark. He was going to have to check for passive obstacles, tripwires and such. Slower going, but not too slow.

Finally, after what seemed like hours of creeping across the roof, he reached his goal. The small chimney flue was nowhere near large enough for a man of his size, but in houses like this, where there's a kitchen there's a dumbwaiter. If his research was correct, the shaft for the dumbwaiter was co-opted for the ventilation system, but the upper parts should be merely closed off.

"It's about time you got here, Agent Shaw."

Shaw lifted his head, flicked the light automatically in the direction of the voice.

"Don't do that," said the same voice from a different direction. "No need to blow both our covers."

Shaw turned to the new direction, his slightly light-blinded eyes making out a shape in the shadows of the air handler room. "Who are you?"

"My name is Carmichael, Agent Shaw. Charles Carmichael."

* * *

**A/N2** There really is a museum and cultural center in the DC area for Byzantine and pre-Colombian art, called Dumbarton Oaks. That's all I know about it. Well, maybe not all, but all I'm going to say in this story. Comments welcome as always.


	2. The Mask

**A/N **Pray for me. I have no idea where this story is going. Funny story: The Mask was the first episode that I saw on TV. I watched the first 2 seasons on DVD and the rest on Hulu.

* * *

"_I am as A-okay as God and my sister could make me."_

"_Is this you?"_

"_Live that dream!"_

"_My name is Carmichael, Agent Shaw. Charles Carmichael."_

* * *

Sarah woke to an unaccustomed sensation. She was cold. Her husband wasn't spooned up against her, nor was she draped across him. She reached a hand out, found him in the bed at least, but whatever wasn't right was definitely wrong. She rolled over. "Chuck? Are you feeling all right?"

He groaned, pulling his pillow down over his eyes. "Don't tell me it's morning already."

She shrugged. "Okay, I won't." On cue, his alarm went off, and she rolled over him again to turn it off.

"What a waste of a good morning," said Chuck, moving his hand up and down her back.

"Must be all that making up for lost time, the night before. Or the food."

"Hey, don't go dissing Bob Evans," said Chuck. "It's working man's food, and last night I was a working man!"

She frowned. "Is it work if you enjoy it?"

"I meant work in the purely physical sense," squeaked Chuck, well aware of the sub-text.

"Purely physical, huh?" She grinned. "That certainly explains the strength of ten, doesn't it?"

His eyes widened. "Ten?"

"Isn't that one of your quotes, pure hearts and the strength of ten?"

"Yeah, but…ten?"

"I was thinking collectively."

He tried to get a count himself, but his memories of last night were hazy. In a good way. _Must be a spy thing. _"I'll take your word for it," he said, and grinned back up at her. "I always said we were better together."

She gave him that look. "Does that include showering?"

Body said _no_, mind said…_maybe_. "Right now?"

"Strength of ten, sweat of ten."

"I don't feel sweaty."

"Well, take my word for that too," she said, running her hand up his arm, "We both worked up quite a—you _don't_ feel sweaty, do you?" She stuck her nose in close and sniffed. "You taking showers without me, Mr. Bartowski?"

"I can't even get out of bed, Mrs. Bartowski. You wore me out."

"Chuck?" He looked up at the strength of her voice all of a sudden. "After all that sparring you were doing, a little romp with me shouldn't have left you this exhausted. Didn't you sleep well?"

"I…don't think so," he said with a sigh. "I feel like all the dreams I had were real."

"Dreams?"

"All night long I dreamed I was working, mopping floors, scrubbing toilets, climbing over rooftops–"

She looked amused. "Rooftops?"

"All of my secret identities seem to do a lot of physical labor–"

"_All_ of them?" She sounded amused. "How many do you have?"

"Well, Tough Guy and Good Boy Chuck do sort of overlap…"

"And what did we agree about Mr. Carmichael?" She did not look or sound amused.

"Uh, rumor mill and gossip?"

"Hiding in shadows and acting through an army of agents who don't even know that they're working to accomplish his ends. You wrote that yourself."

Chuck hugged the covers to his chest. "I said 'fell designs', and that was for my video game! You've been reading my files?"

"The description was so perfect, I thought you were just being a nerd and designing your character, the way you have those architectural designs for your sock drawer–"

"I was using them as props for the lost temple!"

"Whatever." She kissed him on the nose. "If you want to keep something secret around a spy, don't act so secretive about it."

Chuck sat up. "The Piranha is always secretive about his software!"

Sarah smiled. "Not so tired anymore. Good." She threw off the covers. "Let's go get that shower."

His software was still saying _maybe_, but now his hardware was definitely saying _yes_.

* * *

Sarah walked out their bedroom, dressed for the day, and stopped cold. "What's all this?"

Chuck looked up with a bland expression. "It's just breakfast."

It looked like every dish Morgan had ever made. "For who, the Russian army?"

"Casey would never forgive me."

"Chuck, you're a 'two waffles and I'm full' kind of guy."

"Well, dreaming about sweeping the floors is even more work than the real thing, who knew? Not to mention tandem showers." He sat and put most of the scrambled eggs on his plate. "No wonder I was so tired this morning. Maybe we should hold off on that museum trip. If Shaw didn't steal it last night, the Ring will be after it today, and I really don't want to get caught in that crossfire." Shovel, shovel. Chew, chew.

"What did you say?"

Swallow, swallow. "I said, maybe we should hold off on that museum trip, I'm feeling pretty tired." He looked up, caught the expression on her face. "That's not going to be a problem, is it?"

* * *

Chuck went out on his 5K run. Sarah twisted her ankle folding laundry and decided to take it easy this morning. The second he was out of sight the TV turned on to channel 0.

"He said _what_, Agent Bartowski?"

Sarah kept up a professional façade for the General. "The Mask of Alexander display that opens tonight is a Ring target, and that Agent Shaw might have stolen it last night."

"Doctor, are you certain Chuck had the data removed?"

"He has, General," said Ellie from her side of the split screen. "His MRI scans show no significant changes from the baseline."

"Then where did he get this data from? It wasn't in his reports yesterday."

"General, Ellie," began Sarah, "He read about the display and several break-ins at the museum in Burbank on one of his newsfeeds yesterday at breakfast. To the best of my knowledge that's the first time he heard of it."

"I can check the dataset for references to this Mask, but I know he has no traces of the Intersect in him at this time, and he wouldn't have had any when he read the article."

"He asked me if I wanted to go see it, yesterday. I asked him if he flashed, but he said he didn't."

"Attend the opening," said Beckman instantly.

"General, Chuck was very tired this morning. He actually wanted to not go, but that's not what came out of his mouth. When I asked him to repeat it, he didn't seem to know he'd said anything else."

"Why was he tired?" asked Ellie.

Sarah blushed.

"I'm sorry," said Ellie instantly, blushing herself. "I'm sure it's none of my business."

Sarah looked down and composed herself. "He did, uh, he did say he'd had some powerful dreams, him doing strenuous physical activities, like those related to his covers. And he ate a lot for breakfast."

"No doubt an effect, rather than a cause," said Beckman, lips twitching.

"It could have been his brain processing data while he slept," said Ellie. "Not the Intersect but the process of intersection, so to speak. He was supposed to be an analyst, it's not too much of a stretch to think that the Intersect could be enhancing that."

"Why now?"

"I don't know, Sarah. There are too many theories and no way to choose between them at this time."

Sarah glanced at her clock. "General, Chuck will be back from his run soon. Can we reconvene after I get into Langley?"

"Certainly, if we need to," said Beckman. "But first, I want you to find Agent Shaw and talk to him about this Mask. We'll reconvene after that. Dismissed."

* * *

"Oh, good morning, Chuck."

"Agent Shaw." Chuck shuffled away from the elevators. "You're not supposed to be talking to me, sir. Agent Walker said."

"That's true, Chuck, but I spoke to Agent Carmichael last night and he didn't seem to have anything against me saying 'Good Morning' to you. I assume he and Agent Walker have agreed on the matter."

"You spoke to Agent Carmichael…last night?"

"Yes, I assume you told him where I would be."

"I didn't say anything, Agent Shaw."

"It's all right, Chuck, I don't mind."

"But–" _I didn't say anything._

"In fact, I have to thank you. Agent Carmichael said it was your report that made him decide to involve himself, which really made my mission easier. So thank you, Chuck." The elevator dinged, and Shaw gave Chuck a friendly nod and walked away.

Behind him he heard someone say, "I'm sorry about your wife, Agent Shaw."

Shaw turned and frowned at Chuck, standing alone in the hall, staring evenly back at him. He started to open his mouth, but whatever he might have said was cut off by the elevator doing what elevators do.

Chuck watched Shaw's scowling face vanish behind the closing doors. _But I didn't say anything._

* * *

Shaw sat at his desk, pulled out his stick and plugged it in the port. He called up several documents, but he didn't read any of them. They were only there to make it look like he was working as he flipped through the images in the folder on his stick.

She was tall, brunette, and more beautiful than any other woman in the world. The photos were candid shots, mostly, in a variety of settings, but they didn't really look like the usual run of surveillance photos. They were images of a happy woman, a woman on vacation, a woman in love. In love with the man behind the camera, her husband, Daniel Shaw, so rarely in the picture because he took the pictures. So few photos of them together, except for the staged pictures, wedding photos mostly.

The man in them wasn't the man looking at them now. He looked so different. Shaw couldn't recall how to smile like that, like the happy, lucky man he'd once been. They'd trained him how to smile in the Seduction School, that was the only way to smile he knew now.

Now that she was dead. She'd been dead for a long while, but it always seemed like now. Immediate, like a fresh wound.

"_I'm sorry about your wife, Agent Shaw."_

How did Chuck know? Was that even Chuck who spoke? The voice sounded so different, so calm. Like the Chuck he sat with at lunch, the one who recognized that he'd been shot from the smallest of clues. He could see _that_ Chuck deducing his museum visits and telling the Carmichaels. No doubt he told them everything. _What a resource, to see so much from so little._

"Agent Shaw?"

He lifted his gaze from the images of his dead wife to the face of another man's living wife as she walked up to his desk. Sarah Walker, Sarah Carmichael. He stood, out of habit. "Agent Walker. To what do I owe the pleasure? Or do you go by Carmichael now?"

She sat, as did he. "Either will do. Once upon a time it mattered that I was not known as the wife of Charles Carmichael." Her face became somber. "It doesn't, now."

"I understand." He closed the folder of images. Perhaps if Eve hadn't taken his name so enthusiastically she might still be alive. "Is there something I can do for you?"

"I would like to consult with you on a matter of some importance. Perhaps a Quiet Room?"

"Certainly." Courteously, he indicated the direction, even though they were all in the same spots on every floor.

Once in the room, Sarah came right to the point. "I would like to know what is going on with the Mask of Alexander exhibit."

He expected the request, of course. "Three months ago, in the National Museum of Damascus, a Ring team broke into the museum but didn't take anything. We believe that they are using items of art, such as the Mask, to smuggle small items through Customs."

"Like the coffin ploy on the plane."

Shaw nodded. "Exactly. I was supposed to steal the Mask and replace it with a copy in LA, but their security system went off and I had to leave without it."

"What happened?"

"The vault used a vacuum as a fire prevention measure, and the Ring likes to booby-trap their little presents, two good reasons to have an oxygen mask with me. I just had to wait out the alarm and get out the hatch before the guards came in through the front door."

"Sounds like a no-brainer."

"Pretty much. The museum here had some good security too, not as extreme as the one in LA, but I had no time to prepare for it. If it hadn't been for your husband I could never have accomplished my mission."

"My husband?"

"Yes, Agent Carmichael was waiting for me on the roof." He cocked his head to one side. "Didn't you know?"

* * *

**A/N2** Comments welcome as always. I know I don't go on about them here in the notes but I respond to everything I get behind the scenes.


	3. The Beard

**A/N **Not a lot to say here, we had a hurricane and an election. I hope you all managed to survive both intact.

I must admit I did some research for this chapter. I figured if I was going to set a portion of the story on a firing range it made sense to learn some of the usual behaviors of firing ranges, so I watched one whole youtube video on the subject. Very interesting stuff.

I'm telling you I don't own Chuck because the people who sold him to me also bought my silence, and I am a man of my word.

* * *

"_All of my secret identities seem to do a lot of physical labor."_

"_He said _what_?"_

"_I'm sorry about your wife, Agent Shaw."_

"_Didn't you know?"_

* * *

"The prodigal returns!"

Given the amount of noise in the range, and the fact that he was wearing ear protectors, John Casey might not have even heard the shout. Given the high-pitched female _whoop!_ in the voice there was no way he could not, which is probably what Carina was counting on.

Casey always kept himself under tight control, especially with a gun in his hand. Clearly she wasn't planning to go away any time soon, so the easiest way to get her out of his relaxation time was to acknowledge her and send her on her way. "Carina."

She put her bag on the bench and checked inside. "Where you been hiding yourself, Casey?"

He bristled, and pulled his arms back. Marines do not hide. "I found a range with higher standards, This one's letting in all sorts of riff-raff lately."

She ignored the comment. Not only was she preparing to fire, she was used to ignoring Casey's idea of humor. Leaving her gun on the bench, she watched as he put all his shots in a cluster in the center of his target. "Nice shooting, Tex."

He hit the button to retrieve his target. "What do you want, Carina?"

She sent her target downrange and picked up her gun. "Isn't it enough to want to spend time with a friend?"

He watched her put all her shots in the heart. "We aren't friends, Carina. You don't have friends. You have boytoys and marks."

"Sarah was my friend."

He ejected his magazine, picked up the spare. "So go hang with her. You're on the same team now."

"I can't. She's got this husband now, who keeps her out in the boonies."

Casey laughed, as much as Casey ever laughed. "No one keeps Sarah Walker anywhere she doesn't want to be."

"I know. It's depressing. She used to be fun." And Carina didn't have a spare.

"No, she was just tolerant of your idea of fun. Now she's a real girl and has her own." He killed another target.

"It's all Ch-_his_ fault."

He'd expended all his rounds, and started packing up. "Now that's the first true thing you've said today."

* * *

"Didn't you know?"

Did she know that her husband had somehow snuck out of bed without waking her, to go to the roof of a secluded museum and wait for the arrival of another agent? Clearly not. Did she know enough not to let any of that ignorance show on her face? That she did.

She initiated a call on the room's shielded system, the only way anyone from outside the room could know what was happening inside. "General Beckman?"

"I'm here, Agent Carmichael. Where are you?"

"I'm in a CIA Quiet Room, with Agent Shaw."

"What's the problem?" Because obviously there had to be one.

"Agent Shaw switched the Mask of Alexander last night, with the aid of Charles Carmichael."

They could practically hear the wheels turning. "I see. Where is the Mask now?"

"It's in a secure locker downstairs, until I can get it examined," said Shaw.

"I'll contact Colonel Casey and Agent Miller and have them take over the analysis. You two continue your debrief. I want a specific report on Charles Carmichael's involvement."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Dismissed."

Sarah made sure the call was terminated from her end.

"I don't understand," said Shaw. "What interest does your team have in the Mask?"

"Agent Shaw, you heard the General. Can you give me a complete summary of your activities last night, and Agent Carmichael's role in them?"

"Certainly. I was just going to write it up anyway."

"If anyone wants to know what happened last night, Mr. Shaw, tell them to ask the General. Treat this as 'need to know', and only she needs to know."

Brows rose, his only outward sign of surprise. "Very well. I didn't meet Agent Carmichael until after I got to the dumbwaiter shaft—"

* * *

"_What are you doing here?"_

"_Exactly what you think."_

"_You're trying to steal the Mask too?"_

"_Okay, not exactly. I'm here to make sure your attempt is successful this time."_

"_My attempt would have been successful if my backup in Castle had done their jobs properly."_

"_No doubt. Shall we proceed?"_

"_You think you can do better than them, with no prep time?"_

"_As I understand it a CIA janitor could outthink that crew."_

* * *

"A CIA janitor? He said that?"

"Exactly those words. Not very subtle, your husband."

"I'm sure he'd like you to think so. Continue, please."

"He wasn't much help until after I got into the air duct–"

* * *

"_Shaw. Stop here."_

"_Why? It's a straight run from here to the Colombian Pavilion."_

"_Spray the tube."_

"_Lasers. Do you see them?"_

"_Keep your head still please, I need to track their movements."_

"_You need to what?"_

"_Tracking the source. Source located. Okay, lasers neutralized. Proceed to the next junction."_

* * *

Shaw shook his head in wonder. "It was like that all the way to the display and back again. He must have been in the system in real-time, finding and defeating every hazard in my way. It was the most incredible display of hacking I've ever seen." Shaw sat back. "But I guess not you, eh?"

Sarah smiled. "No, not me." She cleared her throat. "What happened after you got back to the roof?"

"I looked over to where I'd seen him last, and I was surprised to see he was still there. I congratulated him on the success of my—our—mission, but he said nothing. He didn't even move."

"He wasn't there, was he?"

"So I discovered. He'd put up a cloth, left some shoes, a relay, and a pair of transceivers. I have them with me, of course. He could have been anywhere."

She shrugged. "Knowing him, he probably left the vicinity the second you made the switch. You wouldn't have needed him to get out, and his hacks probably self-destructed the second you discovered the relay–"

He nodded. "Thus restoring the system. I wondered how he'd done that."

"You're not alone. Most of the people who contribute to his miracles wonder how he does them. Is there anything further you have to add?"

"No." He shook his head slowly. "Are we done?"

"I think so. If we have any further questions you'll be hearing from me." She stood.

He didn't. "I have a question for you, if you don't mind."

She sat.

* * *

Secure lockers are, strangely enough, not locked. The security is all for their contents, designed to prevent the release of any chemical or biological agents, as well as containing the blast of most explosives that would fit in the box. Anyone with the proper security clearance can open it. Carina, for some reason, lacked such clearance. Casey did not.

The Mask of Alexander was an ugly-looking thing, a sheet of hammered gold, mounted on a post with a base for the plaque and other necessary details. The obvious place to start…was in getting a clear containment unit for the damn thing. Casey couldn't help but think of the shaving cream that didn't get sprayed all over Castle.

Not that they'd thanked him, or anything. Still, he'd kept the ungrateful morons alive long enough to procreate, always something to be proud of.

"Hey, Casey! I think I see something!"

Casey looked over quickly, but Carina wasn't touching the thing, or even scanning it, just giving it a visual once-over through the heavy clear plastic of the bag. "What is it?"

"Looks like someone drilled a hole. What do you say I take this thing out of the bag and poke a small rod through there to see what it does?"

Safe-room humor. "What do you say I shoot you now and test the sights on my guns?"

"You're in a mood," she said as he lugged over a proper-sized unit and started fastening it to the table.

"Somehow, 'my day off' and 'test unknown weapons in a safe-room with Carina' just don't go together in my mind." He opened the door, and Carina placed the display inside. "Now, poke away."

"Isn't that my line?" She could almost hear his face twist in disgust, but she had put her hands into the gloves and was removing the bag, so she wasn't looking at him. Once she'd passed it out through the airlock, she picked up a small probe and inserted the tip into the hole, pushing gently.

* * *

"I don't like being pushed, Agent Shaw," said Sarah. "If the day comes when you need to know anything about Chuck, rest assured I will tell you. Provided you had nothing to do with that day coming, in which case I'd be standing over your bleeding corpse and not saying much of anything. Are we clear?"

* * *

"Cyclosarin, huh?" said Chuck. "I don't like that at all."

"Why not? I mean, wholly aside from the fact that it's a proscribed WMD that only the Iraqis have ever deployed in the field?"

"Think about it, Dirtnap. A slow-acting poison, in low dosage, ready to explode in a museum of all places? That sounds like a creepy hostage-taking, terrorist-y kind of thing to me. Do we know who was expected to be there when it was supposed to open in LA?"

"Not really an issue, Graboid, but I guess it's something those pinheads in Castle might be able to follow up on without getting into trouble. We've got bigger fish to fry."

"I'll get North Star."

* * *

"That's a good thought, team. Agent Bartowski's in conference with Agent Shaw, and he has a prior contact with the Castle team on this matter, so I'll let him take point on that end of things. What is _our_ next move?"

"We set a trap, General. They shouldn't know we have their little toy. Shaw expects they'll scope the place out tonight and try to steal it afterward, but he doesn't know about the gas. The possibility is they may try to use it instead. Either way they'll be at the opening."

"I've already told Sarah to attend, she can scope them while they're at it."

"Who's her backup, in case they have something more in mind?" asked Casey. "Not Chuck."

"Obviously not. I was considering asking Agent Shaw to lend us his expertise. I want you and Agent Miller on hand, but getting you positions on the wait staff will be tricky at this late date. You can attend, or monitor from the van."

Casey was typically unenthusiastic. "Is it black tie?"

"In that part of the state, Colonel, a stick-ball game is black tie."

He jammed a cigar in his mouth, growling "Van" around it.

Carina looked disgusted. "You know _I'm_ always up for a party."

"Yeah, I know," said Casey. _That's why I chose the van._

* * *

"Agent Walker, you look lovely tonight."

Sarah inserted her poison-tipped hairpins just so. "Agent Shaw, for this mission you can call me Sarah, and I will call you Daniel. All right?"

"Sarah, you look lovely tonight," he replied, in exactly the same tones as before.

"Thank you, Daniel. You're looking very dapper yourself." She allowed him to drape her wrap over her bare shoulders. Despite the General's words, they were not as formally dressed as they might have been, the museum simply hadn't had time to make as big an event of this as they would have liked. The crowd would be composed of scholars and other students of Byzantine lore, and the social set. Neither agent claimed to be a scholar.

He got the door for her too. "Shall we go?"

'The van' in this case was a limousine, with Casey done up as the driver, a disguise that would allow him to wander the grounds while his fellow agents wandered the halls. The 'beautiful couple' mounted the steps slowly, exactly as if they were really there to see and be seen. At the top they made a hefty CIA-funded donation to the Museum in lieu of tickets, and took up some of the flutes of champagne that their employer's generosity afforded them. It wasn't the best quality, but they weren't drinking it anyway. Letting Shaw play his part with some other wealthy men, she did her bit, looking over the crowd, and incidentally letting Chuck see them all through the camera in her brooch.

Behind her, a familiar voice. "Sarah?"

She turned.

* * *

**A/N2** They never did explain what the Ring planned to accomplish with one small poison gas grenade, so I had to come up with my own nefarious plot. Comments welcome as always.


	4. The Fake Name

**A/N** This version is very different from the original, isn't it? I guess that's a good thing. I actually watched selected sections of the episode for this, since I haven't watched it since it aired. My thanks to all of you who leave comments and give me ideas for future chapters.

* * *

"_Now she's a real girl."_

"_Not very subtle, your husband."_

"_We set a trap, General."_

"_Sarah?"_

* * *

Sarah turned, to see Hannah standing behind her, looking surprised. She put on her best cool, slightly disdainful look. "Yes? Sarah Anderson. Have we met?" _Don't let me down._ Over their comms Chuck was relaying the gist of the encounter to her teammates.

Hannah adopted an embarrassed expression. "No. I'm sorry, it was just a chance resemblance to someone I know."

Sarah sniffed, her expression getting colder. "I thought not. I can't imagine anyone _I_ know appearing in public in last year's fashions. Be a dear and hold this for me." She handed Hannah her glass and sauntered away. Behind her she heard a stage-whispered 'Bitch" and smiled to herself.

"Well-played, wife," said Chuck over her ear-comm.

"She's not gonna **_Unit two?**_ problem, is she?" asked Casey.

Sarah took a brochure and made a point of studying it, bringing her watch closer to her mouth. "Getting some interference." And not from Hannah, either.

"What kind of **_In position, standing by.**_ getting, Sarah?" Chuck sounded concerned, but his 'freaking out' days were in the past, it seemed. She sort of missed them.

"Military-style instructions." She replaced the brochure, turning to sweep the room with her camera again. Across the room she noticed Shaw tense slightly, not that he appeared to have relaxed very much. She looked around, checking for guards or other security types using a radio or something, but saw none.

"Scanning. **_Leader is moving.**_ up a signal, but it's encrypted."

"I'm hearing it plain as day."

"Not saying you aren't, just won—wait a minute, turn back."

She turned back towards the door as another party of guests made their own entrance. The man in the middle focused on the Mask, removing his gloves but not his scarf, and Sarah noticed some burn scars.

"That's Nicos Vassilis, a very bad man. I doubt he's here for the lecture."

She watched the other men with him as they fanned out. "Tell Shaw." He wasn't on their network.

Shaw reached into his pocket, pulled out his phone, read the text, and excused himself to the others he was chatting with. He walked into a corner, keeping his face away from the crowd. His phone automatically patched through. "We have to abort. I gave him those burns, there's no way he won't recognize me. Neither of our projected scenarios will work now."

Casey snarled into his comm, too disgusted to grunt.

"Then we'll have to go to plan C," said Sarah.

"What's plan C?"

"Charles?" asked Carina, eyeing some jewels speculatively.

Shaw actually sounded interested. "Carmichael? He's here?"

"No," said Casey. "But this sort of snafu-bar is red meat for the Mad Dog. If I know him I'll have to get my 'mean face' on."

Sarah and Carina happened to be looking towards each other when the same thought popped into both of their heads. They both snatched up new flutes of champagne to hold in front of their mouths until the smirks went away.

"How long will it take him to get here? Vassilis wouldn't have revealed himself if this was just a scouting operation."

"What makes you think I'm not already here, Agent Shaw?"

* * *

"Colonel?"

"Mad Dog?"

"What are our resources, and don't forget to mention a wheelbarrow if we've got one."

"No wheelbarrows, Carmichael. We've got me on the outside, everyone else is dressed to the nines on the inside. Small sidearms, knives, the usual."

"Hannah's here, too," added Sarah softly.

"She's an analyst."

They could hear Charles' lip curl. "She's a Holocaust cloak, Colonel, just waiting to be lit. Excellent. I do believe I will let her have some fun. Carina?"

* * *

The beautiful redhead in the form-fitting dress suddenly stood, frowning. Sarah looked, found Hannah standing by a vase on display, fingers tracing the design. Sarah coughed, a sound that only caught at the attention of someone familiar with the sound.

Hannah looked up, and saw her friend watching her. Deliberately, Sarah looked to her left, and Hannah followed her gaze. Suddenly the beautiful redhead sneezed. She saw Hannah staring at her and stared back, before 'remembering' to her disgust that her skimpy outfit had no room in it for underwear, much less a handkerchief. She headed for the bathroom.

Hannah looked back at Sarah, who smiled. The slight brunette ambled toward the facilities herself.

* * *

"Colonel," said Charles, "I hope you were lying to me. If you don't happen to have your usual arsenal in the trunk I'll be very disappointed."

"It's a museum, Graboid, not exactly the right kind of place for a frontal assault."

"Diversionary tactics only. Do this right and no shots will need to be fired."

_Oh well, at least it's action. _Casey smiled around his cigar. "I may have forgotten to mention a few things."

* * *

Carina and Hannah returned from the bathroom, not at the same time, of course. Shaw was pleased to note the new addition to their team didn't even so much as glance in his direction, even though she must have been briefed. Carmichael surrounded himself with good people. Then his phone buzzed.

"Agent Shaw?"

* * *

Sarah watched Vassilis in the reflection of a display case, quite certain that her teammates could keep Hannah on course and completely safe. The terrorist was circling the display like a vulture, and that wasn't good. "Hurry it up, Charles."

"Just making a phone call, no need to panic. I hope you don't mind getting arrested…"

* * *

The museum manager came out of his office, looking flustered and trying to hide it. With quick gestures he summoned his security chief and started talking rapidly.

* * *

Vassilis finished his slow, patient circle, letting his men take their positions among the overdressed sheep as he contemplated his prize. In just a few moments, the United States would—What? No!

* * *

Sarah saw his face twist in sudden rage, but before she could even turn to take him down, the door slammed open to admit a very large man with a very mean face and a big black bag. The security guards, forewarned, took up positions to block the door behind him.

"Federal Agents! Daniel Anderson, you are under arrest!"

Shaw flinched and fled, fleeing down the nearest hallway before Vassilis could turn to see what was happening. Casey pushed his bag into the security chief's hands and followed.

"Federal agents!" shouted Hannah, Carina's gun in one hand and Carina's ID in the other, and all eyes turned to the other side of the room. "Sarah Anderson, you are under arrest!"

Sarah turned, saw her friend looking very fierce and clearly enjoying herself, following Casey's lead as Chu-Charles had told her to do. She sighed and surrendered meekly. Hannah stalked up to her and spun her around, slapping Carina's cuffs on her wrists. "Be a dear and hold these for me."

She turned Sarah about, as Casey emerged from the hallway, an unconscious man cuffed and slung over his shoulder, his suit coat dangling and obscuring his face. "What?" he asked mildly, looking only at Hannah. "Resisting arrest."

The museum manager stalked up to Casey. "What is going on here?"

"Art thieves, sir," said Casey, dumping his captive none too gently on the floor. "Daniel and Sarah Anderson, wanted for a number of thefts on the west coast. They were after your Mask in LA, but they couldn't get past the security. I knew they'd follow it here, I just had to wait for the opening."

"You had to ruin our opening gala? Why?"

Casey nudged the body on the floor with his toe. "Because this little freak's too good to get caught in the act, but he's got a weakness. He likes to attend the openings, knowing all along that the centerpieces of your little displays are sitting in his car, waiting to be fenced." He held out his hand, and the security chief gave him his bag. Setting it on the floor, Casey unzipped it and pulled out another Mask of Alexander, draped in a plastic bag.

"You will give that to me, now."

The sound of numerous guns being readied accompanied the man's heavily-accented words, although when Casey looked up from his crouch, the scarred man himself was not holding one. Casey looked around, and saw a number of thugs with weapons pointed at him and his partner, the only gun-holding people in the room other than them. Catching Hannah's eye, he set his gun on the floor and raised his empty hand away from it. She did likewise.

"I have to thank you, Agent, for returning my property," said Vassilis condescendingly. "When I noticed that this was not the original I was prepared to order my men to slaughter everyone here on general principles, but that would not be nearly so newsworthy. You may commend yourself on a job well done. Give me my Mask."

Casey stood up slowly, emphasizing his lack of threat. He held out the mask, allowing the shaft to spin in his fingers.

The front panel flopped open and a canister fell out. As Vassilis looked in horror, Casey said in a bored tone, "Here we go."

The canister started spewing smoke.

Hannah dropped, falling on the gun but mainly just getting out of the way.

Most of the onlookers wrinkled their noses. Smoke bombs don't smell all that great and probably most of them hadn't been forced to endure such a stink since they'd become old enough to tell the maid to 'take it away.'

Vassilis shrieked in horror, "You fool! You've killed us all!" He looked around wildly. "The antidote! Where is the antidote?"

His men stopped watching their targets for a critical second.

All four agents, none of them cuffed any longer, attacked, forcing muzzles up and away from any targets, rendering their holders unable to squeeze the triggers anyway. Within seconds the entire team of Ring goons was disabled and on the ground.

Except one.

"Don't move or I kill her!" shrieked Nicos as he dragged Hannah toward the door, her gun at her head. He flashed a glance at the door and its guards. "Get out of my way!"

"Please!" said the museum manager. "Everything in this room is a priceless relic! Stop fighting!"

"Agents! Stand down," ordered Casey, and his companions obeyed. He nodded at the security guards. "Do as he says, gentlemen."

Vassilis watched as his enemies moved away from him, dragging his hostage back toward the wall so no one could sneak up on him from behind. Priceless relics. Trash to be destroyed. He burned to kill his enemies but that would have to wait for another day.

Hannah moved backward with him, watching her friends. No Charles Carmichael-inspired high-tech chicanery would get her out of this one. She could see that Sarah would kill this man, and gladly, for threatening her, but she needed the opportunity to do it.

This was so not her thing. She was an analyst, a tech, she loved French films and classical music and art and…and…She reached out, grabbed a vase off its pedestal, and swung it above her own head, glad for once that she was short.

It smashed and she dropped a second time when her captor's grip loosened. A gun fired and a man screamed, but not the same man. She looked up and saw the burned man, a growing splash of red on his chest. One of the agents stepped forward, a tall black-haired man with a gun in his hand. "Goodbye, Nicos," was all he said, as Vassilis slid down the wall.

"You smashed a priceless treasure!" shrieked the manager as the tall man helped her stand. "Absolutely irreplaceable!"

"It was _not_," she said with some heat. What was she supposed to do, let some whacko with a gun drag her out the door? "Just look at the damn thing! Sure it looks good from a distance, but a lot of the details were wrong." She gestured around the room. "You've got half the Alexandrian scholars on the Eastern Seaboard here, have them look at it."

The manager looked her, stunned. "Another fake? But why?"

"Probably this," said Hannah, holding up a tube that looked like an oversized lipstick case.

"What's that?"

Casey took it from her hand. "The counteragent for the poison they thought was in the grenade. We intercepted it last night. When we discovered it was live we realized they might strike at the gala, and set up a sting to distract them. Sorry about all of this." Not that he sounded a bit sorry.

The manager looked at the 'Andersons'. "It was all fake?"

"Yep."

"But…the Mask? The vase?"

Casey shrugged. "Probably never left Damascus. Replaced them with fakes before they ever shipped." Outside, a black van pulled up, and men poured out to gather the unconscious terrorists. "We'll be out of your way in a bit." The manager said nothing, just stood there looking at them. Casey snagged a leftover flute of champagne. "Here. Looks like you could use one."

* * *

"I'm so sorry, Hannah," said Sarah, once they were outside.

"Don't be," said the brunette. "I wasn't forced to do it, your husband asked me if I wanted to help and I jumped at the chance." She didn't know which was worse, the feel of the gun against her head, or the thought that Sarah would have to watch, whatever happened. "Never again, though."

"Thanks," said Sarah. "I have enough friends in danger. I'd like to know some of them are safe."

* * *

"The operation failed."

"Vassilis?" asked the leader calmly.

"Dead."

"Good." Saved them the trouble of killing him themselves. "What did we learn from the failure?"

"Shaw has found new allies, a most effective team." Digital photos appeared on the screen, Shaw and Sarah, Casey, Carina, even Hannah.

The leader flicked a finger, and two pictures went into the 'Known' file. The others went into the operative's personal folder. "Study these, report to me personally." A tap, and Hannah's image started flashing. "Start with her."

* * *

**A/N2** I know I suck at fight scenes. That's why I don't do many of them. Comments welcome as always.


End file.
